


Happy Holidays, You'll Be Okay

by spookydallons



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas fic, College Student Gerard Way, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Holidays, Josh Dun & Tyler Joseph Are Best Friends, Light Angst, M/M, Patrick Stump & Pete Wentz Friendship, Platonic Relationships, References to Canon, Romance, its kinda like love actually but emo, only panic! is a band here, pete wentz plays baseball, record producer patrick stump, three main plots loosely connected to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookydallons/pseuds/spookydallons
Summary: Brendon Urie is at the peak of his career, a chart topping album under his belt and leagues of broken friendships that formed the foundation of it. Desperate to catch a break from the increasing pressure mounted on him by management and his now shaky friendship with Dallon, he jets out for the holiday season, only to find himself stranded in the airport with ex bandmate Ryan Ross.Fresh out of uni graduate Gerard Way is struggling to get on his feet in the seemingly impossible world of comic book writing and design. Unable to move out of his parents' house and even to find a stable job, he brings Frank, his high school dropout of a boyfriend, home for the holidays, with the impossible goal of convincing his parents to let them settle down together.Small time baseball athlete Pete Wentz is stuck dogsitting for his much more famous neighbour over the holidays, and he frankly doesn't mind that much. Still not over the ugly breakup with his high school sweetheart Mikey that hit over last year's Christmas, Pete is content to stay in with Brendon's dogs, but is forced out of the house to help when his best friend Patrick's marriage proposal goes awry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> psa: the story world here is completely fictional and unrelated to real life, please treat it as an AU on its own! thank u
> 
> basically it's love actually but with a smaller cast and emo
> 
> i keep starting new projects instead of continuing my old ones it's a really bad habit and i'm so sorry

Dallon sits in front of the camera, holding a ukulele and gesturing to the ornamented tree behind him.

“Christmas tree- check, ukulele- check, cough drop- check, Christmas song- go.” He plucks the strings of his instrument, and starts singing a little holiday tune he wrote up in his spare time. His baby daughter interrupts his recording midway, sticking her chubby face in front of the camera. He’s the bassist for American pop-punk band Panic! at the Disco, and he’s going to see his buddy Brendon for a night out later. Life is good.

~

The cozy Los Angeles pub had been decorated in all sorts of holiday cheer, strings of lights tinted red-green-red hung loosely from the ceiling above as the soft pulsing of _Last Christmas_ played from speakers overhead. 

Dallon shouldered his way through groups of families and college-aged friends, all caught up in swirls of their own private chatter, careful not to drop the package clutched in his hands. He knew Brendon would know to reserve a spot right at the back of the establishment. His famous friend didn’t need to deal with the constant attention of his growing presence in the public limelight, especially not during this season.

Brendon had picked a seat by the kitchens, the corner booth conveniently obscured, partially by a large Christmas tree and out of immediate sight. 

Dallon pulled off his heavy winter coat as he approached, taking a seat opposite his friend. “Hey!” 

Brendon looked up from his phone sharply and clicked it shut. “Hey, man.” 

“I know you’re flying off soon and I might not be able to get the chance to see you much this season-” Dallon slid the thin, paper-wrapped gift across the table. “I mean, since you called me down here I thought I might as well. Merry Christmas.”

Brendon doesn’t respond immediately. He looked down at the table blankly, in a sort of washed over daze. The white noise of pub chatter and recycled Christmas jingles enveloped their silence, before Brendon caught himself and cleared his throat. “Thanks- Thanks man. Appreciate it.” 

Brendon’s dark hair was tousled, and not in the carelessly-messy-but-still-handsome way they’d spray his hair before performances. The usually bright sparkle in his eyes had glazed over in a weary look. He looked a little burned out.

“You okay? You look a little-”

“Tired.” Brendon cut Dallon off, and ran a hand through his already unkempt hair. “Yes! I know! I’m sorry. It’s just-”

Something was off. Dallon blinked, thinking quietly to himself, reaching for any sort of a possible explanation. It could have been for any number of reasons. The latest Panic! album had unexpectedly crawled right to the top of the charts and as the frontman and vocalist it would’ve been expected for Brendon to feel the brunt of the pressure-

“- I called you out here for a reason-”

And the awards show- he had an awards show performance coming up and it can’t be easy on him, especially during this period-

“- I hate that it happened, and I don’t know how to put it in any easier way-”

And if anything bad happened Dallon would be there for him, because Brendon was one of his closest friends.

“You’re off the band. They’re demoting you to a touring member.”

The buzz of pub noise began to cloud over Dallon’s conscious, smothering over his thoughts, the news of demotion not really registering in his head. Demotion? He was off the band? 

Brendon looked visibly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, quickly switching his blank gaze to the empty table behind Dallon. There was a tired, glazed-over look in his eyes. “I really, really didn’t want this to happen,” he muttered, before speaking up again, louder this time. “Look man, I tried talking with management, but they wouldn’t listen.”

An uncomfortable bubble of silence settled over the both of them, Brendon still refusing to look Dallon in the eye while Dallon struggled to find the words to speak. He could feel a dull ache kicking around the back of his throat. All sorts of horrible emotions had begun to pool at the bottom of his stomach, anger mostly – and he didn’t know who to direct it at.

“Did they give you a reason why?”

“They just thought it’d be- easier-, y’know.” Brendon fumbled over his next line. “Promoting- marketing the band as a solo act- I don’t know.” 

“I see.”

Brendon’s phone buzzed from its place at the table, its screen lighting up as a text from his agent popped up onscreen: _Did you tell him?_

It wasn’t Brendon’s fault, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Dallon gets up and retrieves his coat. “Hey, uh- I have to go.”

Brendon jumps to his feet, tone slightly panicked, as if he'd done something wrong. “You’re not staying for dinner?”

“I forgot Breezy’s prepared dinner, I can’t stay,” Dallon lied, trying to keep his tone level. He forced out a smile, though not really caring if it looked genuine or not. “It’s fine. All the best for your big performance tomorrow.”

Was he being a bad friend for ditching Brendon like that? Maybe. But there was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and a shitty feeling of unjustified betrayal sitting in his heart that made it feel so difficult to be in his famous friend’s presence.

Brendon called out to him as he turned to leave the pub. “Merry Christmas man, take care.”

Dallon didn’t turn around to wish him back.

~

Dallon trudged through the snow-covered streets of Los Angeles, his new position as touring member still weighing heavily on his mind. The holiday spirit had long since dissipated from his bones, even as inflatable Santa Clauses and the distant sounds of Christmas carollers filled the streets. 

That part about Breezy having prepared dinner for him was a lie. He’d come up with that excuse to skip hanging out with Brendon, yet in the end Dallon still felt like the real loser here. It was almost 11 and most of the restaurants were already closed – missing dinner would just be the cherry on top of the demotion cake.

He stopped as he noticed that the lights in the Italian takeout place near his house were still on. Squinting through the frosted over windows, he could vaguely make out the silhouette of an employee stacking up chairs in the empty establishment. 

Dallon pushed the door open, stepping inside. He recognised the one guy on duty – Frank, he rented a place two blocks down from Dallon’s and helped babysit his daughter once. “You guys still open?”

Frank scratched the back of his neck as he stacked the last chair to the top of the pile and took in a sharp breath. “I don’t know, man. We’re technically closed, and I do have a plane to catch. Is it a big order?”

“Just ordering for myself.”

Frank glanced at his watch, before wiping his hands down the front of his deliberately ripped employee trousers. He was around 20, a good kid, and had switched jobs perhaps eight times in his life. “Eh, guess I could afford to do one more order. But if I miss my flight for this I’ll have to drive down to your place and kill you myself.”

Dallon chuckled as he took the menu from the shorter boy. “Santa’s watching, Frankie.”


	2. Chapter 2

Frank knew to start panicking once the letters on the departure board for Belleville, New Jersey clicked from ‘Final Call’ to ‘Gate Closed’. 

He’d run the whole way down from the bus stop, the inside of his sweater soaked in cold, sticky sweat as he silently cursed at all the elements the world had put out against him – the fact that he left his passport at home, that there was a major accident on the highway clogging up the traffic, that his short legs made him a shitty runner to begin with, and that Dallon fucking Weekes just had to come in with an order as he was closing up shop. 

Frank made a mental note to drive down to Dallon’s to strangle him personally as a thank you once this was all over.

He knew he must’ve looked a mess, stumbling over to the help desk like that, still breathless from his run as he dragged his broken trolley bag behind him. One of the zips had come loose, the sleeve of one of his more expensive jackets hanging out of its compartment and trailing across the airport floor.

The lady sitting behind the counter smiled knowingly as he approached – she’d clearly seen cases like his before. “How can I help you?”

“Flight.” Frank gasped, clutching onto the counter with both hands as he struggled to catch his breath. This must’ve been the most exercise he’d done in years, his head was spinning from the over exertion, his heart slamming against his ribcage as if trying to tear itself from his chest. He took a deep breath. “I think it just left. Belleville. NJ. Can I still board or would that be pushing it?”

She lowered her gaze to her computer screen. “Not this time, I’m afraid. I can put you on the next flight to Belleville, but it’s going to be in six hours.”

“Nothing earlier?”

“Unfortunately not, sir.”

Six hours. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.

Frank glanced to the back. A queue had begun to form behind him, a family of four at its head, with its matriarch staring impatiently at Frank to get a move on. 

He turned back and offered the lady at the help desk a sheepish smile. “Can I come back later?” 

With her curt nod, Frank knelt down to stuff the jacket sleeve back into his already-bursting-at-the-seems bag, before getting up to awkwardly push the case out of the way with his feet. He had already broken one of its wheels on his run from the bus stop to the airport, and the scrapping noise of the dead wheel against squeaky clean airport floor had already garnered him enough disapproved stares from his fellow travelers. 

Frank’s day was not going off well. 

If he wasn’t nervous before, he definitely would be now. He was due to touchdown in Jersey to spend Christmas with his boyfriend’s family, and he’d already found a way to screw up without even leaving L.A. 

Gerard had stressed, so, so many times, how important it was for Frank to make a good first impression. They’d talked it over countless times over the phone, Gerard going about his step-by-step plan ever so meticulously in typical Gerard fashion while Frank listened with half an ear, mindlessly fiddling around with his guitar on the other end of the line. They both knew how ridiculous the idea of a struggling Fine Arts college major and a high school dropout settling down together would sound like to G’s parents.

And somehow, Gerard had gotten the insane idea that the holiday season would be the ideal time for everyone else to warm up to his high school dropout/punk rocker wannabe of a boyfriend.

Gerard could be overly ambitious. And Gerard tended to rush into things. They’d only been dating for eight months, and they’d somehow already started talking about moving in together. But honestly, Frank didn’t mind that much. Gerard was charming and witty and kind and if he wanted to subject Frank to the mercy of his family over the holidays, Frank wouldn’t complain. 

Frank found a seat near the help desk, and leaned his trolley bag against the armrest beside him. It was up to him to conduct damage control from here. 

He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, instantly feeling his heart constrict tightly in his chest as his finger hovered over Gerard’s contact. A small part of him wanted to give up entirely, to turn around and go home and let Gerard think he’d died on the way to Jersey or something- but fuck it, Frank was no coward. 

Gerard picked up almost immediately. It was almost four in the morning in NJ, but Gerard had a bad habit of working on his comics at really odd hours of the day. “Hello?”

“Hey, G.” Frank couldn’t help but smile. It had been a while since their last call, and Gerard, as sleep-deprived as he sounded, still had an odd way of warming Frank’s heart the way he did. 

“Don’t you- Shouldn’t you be on your plane?”

“That’s the thing.” Frank paused for a moment, trying to phrase his next sentence in the least self-incriminatory way possible. “Funny story. A bunch of stuff happened. I missed my flight.”

There was momentary silence on the other end. Gerard didn’t exactly have a bad temper, but he didn’t deal with problems well either. When he spoke again, his already tired drawl sounded more exasperated than anything. “How do you… How do you even miss your flight? Jesus, didn’t we-”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Frank cut him off. “I just called to let you know that I’ll probably be coming in six hours later than expected. Tell your folks I’m sorry, okay?”

There was a soft sigh from Gerard’s end. “Okay then.” Another pause. Frank could vaguely make out soft rock music being played in the background. “I’ll see you soon. I’m going to bed.”

“I bet it’s going to be a shitstorm later, but I can’t wait.”

Gerard chuckled. “Love you too, Frankie.”

The call cut, and Frank slid his phone back into his pocket. He was on 32%, all the chargers in sight had been occupied, and Frank really wasn’t in the mood to fight some kid with a Nintendo for a power point. 

The airport was still buzzing ever so lightly with life, even at this odd hour of the night. Families and couples milled about in their own groups, some bundled in blankets of makeshift nap corners, others busy with gift shopping and all kinds of activity. It made Frank feel a little bit off the grid- airports transcended all kinds of time zones and semblances of the outside world, yet the textbook Christmas tree and faux snow decorations were there every December without fail.

Frank knew he would just have to camp out here for a little while longer. Sure, it sucked to a certain extent. He was cold and tired, with a broken luggage bag and nothing to do for the next six hours, but he was doing it for Gerard and heck, he liked that kid a hell lot. 

~

It was about one in the morning in Los Angeles.

Pete could hear Brendon singing to his adoring Periscope fans, gentle piano accompaniment floating down from the floor above him. Brendon had been livestreaming a lot more recently, and Pete didn’t really mind. It had become oddly comforting in a way, even for him.

Pete and Brendon had a weird friendship dynamic going on. The minor league baseball player had somehow ended up with some bigshot popstar for a neighbor, and even though Pete wasn’t sure if Brendon even considered him that close a friend to begin with, Brendon always let him crash at his place whenever.

Pete lolled his head back, and let the beer bottle in his hand hit the floor. The TV set hanging on the wall in front of him had been left to play old Christmas reruns, but he’d long since forgotten whatever show was currently on in favor of drinking himself until he passed out on Brendon’s couch again. 

He had no plans at all this holiday. He’d agreed to dog sit for Brendon this year while his more famous friend flew off to god knows where to escape the paparazzi- just a nice gesture of goodwill for a good friend. 

This was going to be Pete’s first Christmas alone, and he was strangely alright with that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just another psa: the parent characters in this fic are going to be 100% fictional and not at all based off the band members' actual parents in any way at all so i won't be using any of their names
> 
> also i'm really sorry this chapter took so long to put out, but i hope you like it!

Gerard had fallen asleep at his desk that morning, only to be rudely jerked back into consciousness a mere five hours later by a sharp pain in his back and an incessant hammering at his door. His mom had chided him enough about sleeping at the table. It wasn’t by accident – he just spent so much time at his desk these days, drawing and drawing while his bed piled with all sorts of junk. 

He lifted his head from the table, blinking slowly and trying to shake the numbness from his wrists, nearly knocking over an empty cup of takeout coffee in the process. The pounding on his door wasn’t going away. It wasn’t his parents. Mom and Dad knew better than to disrupt his sleep like that. 

“Fuck off, Mikey.”

“It’s almost 9! Don’t you have to pick up your dumb boyfriend from the airport or something?” his brother yelled from the other side of the door.

“No. Go away.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? Open the door, you dick.”

There really was no shooing Mikey away sometimes. Gerard got up from his seat begrudgingly – the floor tended to get stupidly cold at this time of the year, but he’d kicked his socks off at some point and they were god knows where. Making his way across his room, he unclicked his door lock and yanked it open. “He’s running late, but if you’re so eager you can go ahead and pick him up for me.”

Gerard never could understand how Mikey managed to be so alert this early in the morning. Mikey had already washed and dressed, hair sprayed back into that same blonde quiff like he always did. Maybe it had something to do with his unhealthy caffeine intake.

Mikey shouldered his way past Gerard and into his brother’s room, pushing aside a stack of old comic books on his bed. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist, to be honest.”

“Wait, what?” Gerard kicked the door closed behind him, dropping back down into his desk chair and spinning around to face Mikey.

“It’s just…” Mikey shrugged, sitting down on what little space he’d made for himself on Gerard’s bed. “I don’t know, man. You could’ve been catfished.”

Gerard ran a hand down his face in a still half-asleep daze. Mikey had a knack for bringing up the weirdest possibilities at times, but sometimes he did have a point. “What’s so unrealistic about Frank?”

“The fact that someone would want to date Gerard Way in the first place-” He sniggered as Gerard chucked a pencil in his direction, narrowly missing the younger Way and falling behind the headboard of the bed. “I don’t know, man. He’s too nice to you.”

“Frank?” Gerard leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on its back wheels. Mikey already knew the story of how they’d met, lurking on a forum board for ‘20-somethings struggling with approaching adulthood’. Something about the way Frank would overshare about his own situation to strangers on the Internet while proceeding to call Gerard out for doing the same had caught his attention. “I mean, Mum and Dad’s skeptical about him too. And the fact that he dropped out of high school doesn’t exactly help.”

Mikey was fiddling with an action figurine Gerard had long since discarded on his bed pile months ago. “I overheard them talking last night. They said that Frank sounds like a total loser.”

“They said what?”

“You know,” Mikey remarked nonchalantly, tossing the figurine aside. “High school dropout. Jumping from job to job-”

“It’s just to fund his-”

“His future punk rocker career? And how long is that going to take?” Mikey scoffed. “You and I don’t really mind that, but that’s definitely not going to sit well with our parents and you know that.”

There was a momentary silence. Gerard didn’t exactly have a comeback response to that, because Mikey was right. Picking a degree as competitive as Fine Arts in college of all things meant breaking into the industry and landing a permanent job was going to be tough. He had just graduated, was pushing 23, and he hadn’t even moved out of his parents’ house yet. 

And that was why Gerard knew they’d never approve of someone like Frank.

“Mum and Dad care about you, G. They really want you to be with someone who can take care of you and, Frank doesn’t seem capable of that. Not financially, at least.”

Gerard shot his brother a pointed look. “Jesus, Mikey. Don’t talk as if Frank and I are going to be jobless and homeless forever.”

“You really like this guy?” Mikey chuckled. “Oh, come on. Don’t look so upset.” He leaned over, punching Gerard lightly in the arm. “If you really like him, I’ll help you out, promise. I made even Pete Wentz look good in front of our parents. It’ll be fine.”

Gerard slapped Mikey’s fist away, kicking against the bed and rolling his desk chair towards the door. “The whole point of inviting Frank over for Christmas was to win over our parents’ approval, Mikes. I really don’t want to screw this up.” He got up, pushing his bedroom door open. “I’m going to take a shower. Be out of my room by the time I’m back.”

He could hear Mikey call out to him as he shuffled down the hallway. “You’re welcome!”

~ 

Brendon had long since left the house by the time Pete woke up. As expected, he’d passed out on the couch, Brendon’s pup Bogart curled up by his feet. Brendon had very generously offered Pete access to whatever he wanted from the fridge and his Netflix account- just remember to feed the dogs and bring no guests over. Pete was fine with that. His own parents were off to some romantic holiday getaway without him, and his best friend Patrick had matters of his own to deal with. 

He fumbled for his phone and clicked it open, surprised that it still had juice considering that he’d completely forgotten to charge it the night before. 

Three missed calls and two unread text messages. All of them were from Patrick.

_Patrick: hey youre probably asleep rn but just wanted to let u know im about to fly off! wish me luck_

The next message was sent barely two minutes later.

_Patrick: holy smokes im so nervous_

Pete groaned, as the realization hit him. He’d slept in and forgotten to call Patrick before his flight. 

Patrick had planned to fly off to Jersey to spend time with his girlfriend, Elisa, before pulling off some kind of elaborate marriage proposal just in time for the holiday season. Pete had insisted on being with him every step of the way, right until his flight out of L.A. They’d spend months conceptualizing and planning the entire setup, right down to the booking out of her favorite restaurant and the marching band that was apparently supposed to come in at some point, and Pete had completely missed the mandatory best friend pep talk he was supposed to give before Patrick’s big flight.

He opened the messaging app and quickly typed out a response. 

_Pete: yo pat, you’ll be ok dw. elisa’s gna love it, guarantee. call me if u need anything_

Could one even receive text messages in the air? Pete had no clue, but what’s done was done and he was sure Patrick was going to be O.K from here on out.

Pete clicked his phone off, tossing it onto the sofa behind him as he got up. Patrick was going to be okay. Pete wasn’t so sure about himself.

~

Their flight from L.A to New Jersey was around 5 hours, and they were due for landing soon. The air inside the cabin had gone cold and dry, and Patrick could already feel his legs begin to fuzz up. He had been hoping for a nice conversational partner for the duration of his flight to try and distract him from his own nerves, but he was out of luck. The guy sitting next to him had knocked out the moment he got to his seat. 

Patrick pulled his earbuds out as the plane began to make its descent. It was approaching mid-afternoon in Jersey, yet the unwelcoming snowstorm from outside his window made it feel like night. 

A flurry of notifications rolled in as Patrick switched his phone off Airplane mode. Mostly concerned texts from his mother, one from Pete, one from Elisa letting him know that she’d arrived at the airport and was waiting for him, and two emails from the record company he’d been posted to for his college internship. 

The seatbelt sign flickered off, and the other passengers on the plane got up and began to gather their belongings. The guy sitting beside Patrick didn’t look like he was going to wake up anytime soon.

Patrick shook him lightly by the shoulder. “We’ve landed.”

The guy snapped awake with a start. He looked a mess- eyes red and hair frizzled from the humidity of the cabin. He kicked off the thin, airline provided blanket as he fumbled for his phone, too dazed to even acknowledge Patrick. 

“Fuck…” he mumbled, as seven missed calls popped up on his screen. He got up, hitting the call back button as he eased his way out of his own seat. “Hey, G, just landed-”

“Dude, you said it was a four-hour flight!” a voice on the other end snapped. 

“Okay, fine, I miscalculated,” the guy shot back impatiently. “But I can’t control this kind of shit, can I?” 

Patrick forced himself to hold back an annoyed sigh. He’d taken the interior window seat, and there was no way he was getting out of the plane before his seat partner left, forcing him to eavesdrop on whatever spat the other guy had gotten himself into. It felt kind of invasive. 

“I’m doing my best and I’m really not in the fucking mood-” He snatched a backpack from the overhead compartment, swinging it over his shoulder and pushing his way down the aisle. “I said I’ll hurry-”

Patrick watched as his seat partner shoved his way out of the plane. His carry-on bag was eerily similar to Patrick’s – a thin, black backpack with the Under-Armor logo stamped across. 

Patrick frowned as the thought crossed his mind, but reached for the remaining bag in the overhead compartment anyway. Pulling it down from the compartment, he felt his stomach lurch as he realized that the bag in his hands was navy blue, not black. Everything else in the bag he could replace, but his engagement ring for Elisa was gone.

“Oh…”

Patrick stuffed his phone into his jacket pocket, gripping the other backpack tightly in his hands as he hurriedly pushed his way down the aisle – the same way his seat partner had done seconds earlier.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi! i'm really sorry this update took so long
> 
> christmas has probably either come or already left for most of you, merry belated xmas and happy holidays!

As expected, the airport had tripled in passengers in lieu of the holiday season. Patrick was way out of luck, attempting to push his way through the thick crowd of holiday travellers was beginning to prove almost impossible. He’d long lost his seat partner in the sea of the same tired, pasty faces that brushed past him, his adrenaline riddled heart beginning to slow as he wearily came to the conclusion that there was absolutely nothing he could do from here.

Patrick crumpled into a bench, defeated, navy blue carry-on bag in his hand sagging by his side on the floor. Elisa was waiting for him at the carpark, and as long as she wasn’t around to see him on the verge of panic like this, he was in the clear. He leaned back in worn-out defeat, closing his eyes and willing his breaths to even. 

He could barely even hear himself think. All around him, fellow travellers pushed and shoved and hurried their way to wherever they needed to be. The noise of screaming kids, frenzied adults and the occasional airport announcement ringing from overhead drowned out whatever room he had left in his head for any form of clear thinking. 

What was that Pete had told him the night before he left L.A again? _Everything will be O.K. Just holler if you need me._

Pete was his one lifeline for assistance, and fuck, did he need it. 

Hands shaking and still slightly damp in cold sweat, he fumbled for his phone and tapped out Pete’s number.

Pete picked up almost immediately. His voice was unusually bright, as if trying to make up for the obvious sleep depravedness. “Oh, hey! Landed already? Sorry about not calling before you flew, I kinda knocked out early-”

“Pete,” Patrick cut him off. “I really need your help with something.”

“What, already?”

Patrick sighed. He was usually so on top of his game. Calling for help this early just felt pathetic. “Someone else took my carry-on bag by mistake. I need you to bring me a replacement ring for Elisa. I don’t know if I can get another one on such short notice here.”

“Jesus, man, wasn’t that thing-”

Patrick forced himself to hold back a wince. Pete could be so bloody insensitive sometimes. “Two thousand dollars. I know, man. I’m trying not to feel that wallet burn right now. Please don’t remind me.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t just keep something that important in your jacket pocket or something,” Pete went on, as if he hadn’t heard Patrick’s request at all earlier, “You’re stupid. But you’re my best friend and it’s not my job to judge you for that.”

“Thanks,” Patrick muttered bitterly. 

There was a brief pause from the other end. Patrick could vaguely hear one of Brendon Urie’s dogs barking in the background. “Okay, I really should be dogsitting for Brendon right now but I’ll try and look for a replacement or something. I’ll fly out to Jersey ASAP. What kind of ring do you want?”

“Anything. Don’t spend too much money on me, I feel bad.”

“That makes you a good friend, but a shitty boyfriend.”

Patrick didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this point. Pete’s shitty jokes usually had this miraculous way of making anyone laugh. “I’ll get her another ring when I have the cash. I just need something to-” Patrick took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He was a near broke college student, and he’d just lost a two thousand dollar engagement ring meant for his girlfriend of three years. “ _Propose_ to her with, you know.”

“Alright, alright. I was just messing with you.” Pete chuckled. “I’ll book the earliest flight I can. I’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks, Pete.” Even with his shitty jokes and occasional dumb antics, Pete was a great friend. Patrick was a lot more thankful for him than he’d ever let on.

Patrick cut the call, sliding the phone back into his pocket and feeling a little more calm than when he’d first gotten on the call. He knew he was in a terrible position right now, but some stupid, idealistic part of his head still believed that he could make it all work out.

~

This wasn’t exactly how Frank imagined meeting Gerard face to face for the first time would be like.

He thought it’d be something a bit more romantic, a bit more like what he’d see in movies. Some slow motion running into each other’s arms, lovesick declarations of how much better looking Frank was in real life than through a webcam, maybe a tear shed or two.

But here he was, sleep deprived, his broken luggage bag making an embarrassingly loud scraping sound as he lugged it across the airport floor, covered in sweat and later than he originally told Gerard he’d arrive – twice.

It didn’t take much scanning through the crush of expectant loved ones waiting at the arrival hall to pick Gerard out from the crowd. He looked exactly like he did during their Skype calls, pale face framed in dishevelled dark hair, lips pressed tightly in an uncomfortable sort of smile. There were two other people waiting with him, a tall blonde who Frank assumed to be Gerard’s brother Mikey, meaning the other one had to be his best friend, Ray.

As soon as they made eye contact, Frank saw Gerard’s eyes light up, all traces of annoyance from their earlier phone call melting away instantly. Frank grinned, dragging his broken bag behind him as he made his way over to them. He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks and his heart begin to thump harder in his chest as he approached – he had fallen for Gerard through a computer screen all those months ago, and here he was now, standing just a few feet away from him.

And still, this wasn’t exactly how Frank imagined meeting Gerard face to face for the first time would be like.

Neither Gerard nor Frank said anything, the look in Gerard’s eyes quickly going from adoration to discomfort, as if unsure what he could do next. Frank’s first instinct would’ve been to pull Gerard in for a hug, sure, but Mikey and Ray were just – _standing_ there, watching them. Mikey looked a little bit annoyed.

“Really sorry for the wait.” Frank laughed sheepishly, in an attempt to break the awkward silence. “Uh… Where’s your parents?”

“It’s cool,” Ray offered. 

“They left to eat without us, bozo,” Mikey said dryly. “Couldn’t let a table reservation go to waste. You’re an hour later than you told Gerard you’d be.”

Frank had not been expecting a response like that. Stunned, his gaze shifted straight to Gerard for help, who just shrugged and shook his head. 

“It’s okay! I’ll call us a taxi, we can just eat wherever. Let’s go.” Ray grabbed Mikey by the arm and pulled the taller boy along with him, leaving Gerard and Frank to walk behind them. He’d effectively given Frank space to talk to Gerard, whether or not intentional Frank was grateful for.

Gerard eyed Frank’s luggage bag in amusement. “You need help with that?”

“I’m fine.” Frank shook his head, dragging the bag behind him as they followed Ray and Mikey out of the terminal. “What’s up with your brother?”

“Honestly? No idea. He told me he’d help me with making you look good in front of the parents but,” Gerard shrugged, though he didn’t seem too concerned, “Don’t worry about it. He’ll come round eventually. How was your flight?”

“I was unconscious for the entirety of it, so I guess it was okay.”

Another awkward silence settled over the both of them. It was so odd. They could talk for hours during their Skype calls, but here it felt as if they were strangers who’d spoken to each other for the first time. Gerard was holding back a little, Frank could tell, as if scared he would say or do something wrong. 

“Frank?”

“Hm?” 

Gerard glanced at Frank, the corners of his mouth tugging out into an awkward half smile. He was oddly charming in his weird, comic book nerd kind of way. “I’m- uh… Really glad you could make it.”

Frank smiled, slipping his free hand into Gerard’s and pulling the other boy closer to him. “Me too.”

~

“Listen, I know it’s really short notice-” Pete paused, the aggressive drumming coming from the other end of the line was completely drowning him out. He raised his voice a bit. “Can you ask Josh to like, hold on for a bit?”

“One sec. Josh! I’m on the phone!” Tyler yelled. The drumming reluctantly slowed to a stop. “Sorry. Josh and I are practicing for a – thing. We have this gig – kind of, I mean, we’re playing at my mom’s book club. What was that you were asking again?”

Tyler had been a family friend of Pete’s for a really long time. Pete’s own dad used to coach Tyler in little league baseball. The kid was younger than him by quite a bit – a high school freshman to be exact – and he and his friend Josh had big dreams of becoming the next big musical act ever since Brendon Urie and his now non-existent band.

“I was supposed to be dogsitting for Brendon-”

“Wait. As in _Brendon Urie_ , Brendon?”

“Yes. Something came up and I have to leave for Jersey for a couple of days. Can you and Josh take over? I know you’re both on your school break right now, I’ll like, pay you guys if you want. You know how to look after dogs, right?”

There was silence for a moment. Pete could faintly hear frantic whispering from Tyler’s end, and it sounded as if the boy had discarded the phone aside to liaison with Josh. 

“Tyler?”

It was Josh who picked up the phone – Pete could practically hear the giddy excitement on the high schooler’s face. “We’ll do it! No charge!”

“Hey, you guys can’t invite any other friends over, okay?” Pete warned. “And get out of the place by Boxing Day, I mean it, Brendon has no idea I’m doing this.” 

“Can we touch his Grammys?” Tyler shouted from afar.

Pete glanced up at the awards cabinet on Brendon’s wall. Sure, Tyler and Josh were high schoolers, but they didn’t seem like the type who would trash a rich person’s fancy house. “Eh… Try not to. You guys still on?”


End file.
